


Second Nature

by moolktea



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Inflation, DNA (destroy nero's ass), Fluff, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rimming, a/b/o dynamics, belly bulge, nero propaganda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 07:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moolktea/pseuds/moolktea
Summary: Dante abruptly drags his hand down his face and makes his way upstairs, shutting the door behind him and leaning heavily against it. At this point, with his demonic half repeatedly butting in with unhelpful and intrusive thoughts, Dante’s got a pretty good idea of what’s going on.He’s going into rut, and Nero, as a younger, weaker demon than himself, is absolutely in the center of it.-Dante's having a bit of a problem.





	Second Nature

**Author's Note:**

> SDFLKMSKDM KLHEWWOOOO after many billion years of NO DANEWO POASTING, i PRESENT TO U...a shamefully horny fic  
i wuv u all, this is for DANERO WEEK...demon biology + birds of a feather prompts

In hindsight, Dante probably should’ve guessed that he’d eventually run into problems when he decided to let a nineteen-year-old, part-demon, church-boy brat crash at his demon-hunting business in the middle of the city. 

Nero had just turned up at his door unannounced one day, mumbling something under his breath about not having phones in Fortuna and about needing Dante’s “old person advice,” his head ducked and half of his face nearly hidden in his scarf. The kid’s expression, colored with reluctance and embarrassment and most prominently the fear of rejection, had been highly reminiscent of that of a particularly sad and lost-looking baby rabbit, and Dante couldn’t help but open the door slightly wider with a grin, flicking his head towards the interior of his shop.

They’d talked for a bit, sorted things out regarding Nero’s demonic arm and all, with Dante providing as much information as he was certain about, and by then, it’d been too late for Nero to start the return journey to Fortuna. One night in Dante’s guest room had stretched into three, and then a week, and then Nero had written up a letter to his friend back at home explaining that he wouldn’t be back for a while.

Dante’s never really had another permanent resident in his home since he was eight, but their coexistence had gone surprisingly smoothly. Despite Nero’s surface attitude, he’d been nothing but a model housemate, looking almost afraid to treat the shop as his own place in the first few weeks, before he’d slowly gotten used to the new arrangement.

Aside from the sheer alarm Nero had displayed at Dante’s dietary habits and cleanliness standards, they really haven’t had any snags in their relationship. The kid picks up after him, occasionally succeeds in forcing non-pizza foods down Dante’s throat, and follows him on jobs whenever they get a new call, always subtly watching Dante’s movements out of the corner of his eye.

The aforementioned problem, in fact, lies almost solely with Dante, something he belatedly realizes not moments after Nero lunges towards him during one of their daily spars and wraps his legs around Dante’s waist in an attempt to reduce the advantage that Dante’s size gives him.

It doesn’t quite work, largely because Dante has both superior strength and experience on his side, and he easily uses the newfound contact to grab the kid and pin him to the floor, bearing down on him with his bigger form.

Nero makes a noise of frustration, his voice slightly cut off by the way the air trembles in his lungs, his breath coming in harsh pants as he attempts to recover himself. He bucks up against Dante wildly, both his wrists straining against Dante’s single hand from where Dante’s holding them against the floor, but they both know it’s a futile effort.

The kid’s definitely getting better at fighting, is becoming stronger and faster after his repeated practices with Dante, but the second that Dante actually manages to get the kid beneath him, the battle’s over.

With a few more aborted attempts at breaking Dante’s grip, Nero finally goes limp against the floor, blowing his own fluffy bangs out of his face with something almost like a pout as Dante smirks down at him. He’s always a bit of an ass about his consistent victories, maybe, but he really can’t help it--it’s both a little too easy and too fun to rile the kid up.

“Nice try, yeah?” Dante offers, unable to keep the teasing lilt out of his voice.

The quip earns him a hearty glare, but with another sigh, Nero turns his head slightly to the side, averting his gaze slightly downwards.

It’s a nonverbal admission of defeat, because the words “give up” don’t exist in Nero’s vocabulary, and it’s the way that their fights always end. He shouldn’t think anything of it, should get off of Nero and help him up and let the two of them go on with their usual business, but as Dante blinks down at the other, something in his gut lurches, a foreign sensation itching underneath his skin.

Dante finds his eyes drawn to the length of Nero’s neck, where the column of the boy’s throat is so easily presented to him, and his tongue runs itself over his teeth in an almost unconscious gesture. His own head cocks to the side and his eyes slide shut in a lazy manner as his lungs draw in a deep inhale. 

He smells the sweat still clinging to their skin, the leftover energy hanging in the air, but beneath that, there’s something deliciously sweet. It’s a familiar scent, like vanilla and warmth and a hint of spice, and it’s one that he’s come to associate with Nero over the months.

It’d been strange at first, admittedly, having the smell of another demon outside of his own family so close to his territory. In those first days, he remembers how he’d been irrationally possessive of his items and his space, unable to stop himself from tensing whenever Nero drifted too close to something that Dante’s demon had perceived as his. 

After a couple of weeks though, his demon half had seemed to accept that Nero wasn’t going to be a threat, and the boy’s scent had mostly become a natural part of Dante’s life, an aspect intrinsically tied with the definition of home. It had faded into the background for him, no longer so prominently noticeable, but always reliably there.

Now, though, it’s almost all he can smell, the sweetness nearly overpowering in strength, and his gut wrenches, because he somehow he feels like he needs  _ more. _ It isn’t enough, with the way he’s hovering over Nero like this, he needs to press his face into the crook of the boy’s neck, the very source of the smell, and open his mouth and--

“Did you actually  _ fall asleep, _ old man? Get off of me already.”

Dante’s eyes snap open, refocusing on Nero’s face, and the boy barely has the time to mask the concern on his face, replacing it with his usual glare. His head is still languidly tilted to the side, his baby blue eyes peeking out from underneath Nero’s snowy, long lashes as the boy tries to study Dante’s face.

An entirely too-long moment passes before Dante manages to swallow hard, and remove his hand from Nero’s wrists, slowly sitting back on his heels. Nero squirms out from underneath him, rubbing at his forearms with a slight wince at the circulation returns to them, but he keeps his gaze fixed carefully on Dante, something uncertain flickering through his eyes.

Dante scratches at his chin, trying to force his brain back into some semblance of normality, which is a little easier to do now that he’s not pressed right up against Nero’s body.

“Sorry. Got distracted,” he manages, internally wincing at how clipped his voice comes out, but the effort of repressing the flare-up of his demonic instincts steals away most of his ability to behave normally. 

“Yeah, I can tell…” Nero mutters, looking as if he wants to say more, but eventually shakes his head.

The kid gets to his feet slowly, his bruises and scrapes from their fight slowly starting to patch themselves over. There’s an uncertain amount of demon blood running through the boy’s veins, so Nero’s got a pretty decent healing factor--it isn’t quite as good as Dante’s, and Dante has little doubt that the kid wouldn’t be able to survive the same amount of physical punishment that Dante can take, but it’s far above that of a normal human’s.

Nero stretches his arms above his head, working out the tightness in his muscles, and the hem of his blue button-up rides slightly upwards, exposing a thin strip of skin at his stomach. Dante is almost alarmed at how fast his gaze jumps towards it, the twisting in his gut magnifying, his hands twitching at his sides with the desire to do something--maybe he’ll hook his fingers underneath that thin layer of fabric and nudge it just a little higher and let the back of his hand drag against the boy’s abdomen--

“You hungry or something?”

At this point, Nero’s subtle concern has evolved into fully-blown suspicion, and the kid folds his arms over his chest as he looks down at Dante, stepping closer to him and nudging slightly at Dante’s leg with his bare foot.

The contact nearly makes Dante jump, because the touch of Nero’s skin against his own sends a flash of heat through Dante’s body, and his jaw clenches on instinct, like he’s physically holding back whatever this is. 

He can tell that his prolonged silence is the primary cause of Nero’s worry, though, so he forces himself to get to his feet, trying to keep his movements as casually fluid and easy as usual. There’s a residual tension in his muscles, though, and it feels like he’s cramped inside of his own body as he stalks past Nero.

“Or something. Mind ordering me a pizza? I got something to take care of upstairs real quick.”

“You and your pizza,” Nero grumbles, but his tone is a little lighter at the mention of Dante’s usual favorite, and, out of the corner of his eye, Dante sees the way that the kid ducks his head, the briefest of smiles curling at his mouth.

“Go take a shower while you’re there. You always run out of hot water, and I think we both know your ancient-ass bones can’t take the cold.”

Dante expects, then, to feel the familiar rush of fondness that usually accompanies the kid’s little gestures, but his stomach only tightens as he moves forward and drops his hand into the boy’s hair. His touch feels heavy, like it was meant to be there, and he has to remind himself of exactly what is an acceptable amount of time to touch the boy, making himself pull away after a few moments.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Remember, no olives.”

Nero makes a face at him before he departs to Dante’s desk, propping himself up on top of the edge of it as he picks up the phone on his fingers. The kid’s always avoided sitting in Dante’s chair proper, an unspoken understanding falling between them as to what spaces were reserved for Dante’s use only.

Something in him is excessively pleased at the sight of the boy’s respect for his boundaries--he likes that Nero minds his space, that he knows what and where is place is, that it’s beneath--

Dante abruptly drags his hand down his face and makes his way upstairs, shutting the door behind him and leaning heavily against it. At this point, with his demonic half repeatedly butting in with unhelpful and intrusive thoughts, Dante’s got a pretty good idea of what’s going on.

He’s going into rut, and Nero, as a younger, weaker demon than himself, is absolutely in the center of it.

This sort of thing has always been fairly complicated for Dante.

He’s never had anyone explain the concept of a rut to him, given that the only adults aware of his demonic heritage had exited his life by the time he’d come of age. But he’s always instinctively known, somehow, what was happening to him and why, enough demon blood in him to fuel his innate knowledge.

He knows that his ruts are irregular in their timing--they’re supposed to come routinely, but his rarely follow any sort of schedule, usually creeping up on him at the worst time imaginable. As far as he can tell, it’s mostly because he doesn’t have a stable partner to work through them with--without a mate to keep him in check, his biology is essentially running wild, doing whatever it wants whenever it wants. 

It’s a miserable few days when they come, usually full of snapping and snarling and pent-up aggression. He’s aggressively territorial and impulsively quick to act, the natural frustration that accompanies these phases magnified by the fact that Dante refuses to do anything about it.

With his overall appearance and usual charisma, Dante knows it’d be pretty easy for him to drop into some bar or nightclub and release his frustration the proper way, like his biology wants him to. But he also knows, with complete certainty, that with his enhanced strength and size, he’s likely to snap any human he tries to fuck while he’s in this state in half.

He’s pretty good about controlling himself normally, and even though he never really derives complete satisfaction from sleeping with other people when he has constantly remember to keep himself in check, a night of sex generally fulfills the needs of his human half for a good couple of months. 

But he’s never tried fucking anyone while in rut, and he won’t ever dare to, not when the consequences are likely to outweigh what little benefit he could possibly gain from it.

So he’s always gotten himself through the days alone, shutting himself up in his room and getting off to whatever pops up in his mind. 

It’s definitely messy--his scent gets everywhere, it seeps into the floors and the wall and the furniture, and his body prioritizes mating above all else, temporarily increasing his stamina and propelling his sex drive through the roof. At the end of the week, the amount of objects he’s accidentally destroyed in his mindless periods of aggression tend to scatter themselves around the shop, leaving him with a whole lot of cleanup after he awakens from his post-rut coma.

In general, it’s a pretty unpleasant and inconvenient affair, but at least he’s always been alone for it.

Now that Nero lives with him, his sweet scent lingering on their shared space, a certain kind of too-trusting innocence hovering over him like a shroud, Dante’s demon instincts have zeroed in on the kid, designating him as the prime target for mating. 

To be fair, Dante supposes he can understand it--from his body’s perspective, Nero is an excellent candidate for this sort of thing. 

The kid is another demonic hybrid, meaning he has both the strength and the healing factor to be able to keep up with him. He’s capable of putting up enough resistance in their spars to prove himself worthy as a mate, but he’s still weaker and smaller than Dante, something that satisfies the inherent hierarchy that runs through Dante’s blood.

On top of that, Nero is completely unmarked, his body young and untouched by any other, and there’s something unhealthily appealing about the thought of being the first one to lay claim to this boy.

The human side of Dante, though, is very much aware of all these facts, and how all of this is exactly why thinking about Nero in this regard is completely unacceptable. 

Dante’s a man in his late thirties, with only two real friends and an occupation of less-than-stellar repute. He’s got a stable income and a place to live, but those things don’t count for much when Nero is _ nineteen, _ freshly out of an isolated church island, and has put his faith and trust in Dante to guide him through things.

Most importantly, he doesn’t have Nero’s consent here--the kid’s given no indication that he thinks of Dante as anything more than a mentor or a friend, and Dante suspects that Nero’s the type to want a loving, real relationship before he gets into any of the heavier stuff.

But the worst part of Dante’s problem is that he absolutely wouldn’t mind something like that with Nero, which is fucked up in more ways than he can count. 

Dante groans, thumping the back of his head against the door and inhaling deeply, trying to get his thoughts in order. He does his best to push anymore ideas into the back of his mind in favor of figuring out how he’s going to get them both through the next week or so.

He’s going to have to be honest with Nero and more or less give him the full picture--he’ll tell him about the business with ruts and all that, just with significantly less Nero-related perversion added in. 

Dante’s got extra cash laying around, can find an inn or something for Nero to stay in, or maybe he’ll send the kid to Lady and Trish’s place. With any luck, the boy will cooperate and stay safely out of his way, and Dante can deal with this unsavory side effect of his heritage in solitude.

His instincts snarl unhappily at this plan, at the concept of sending his prospective mate away from him, and he grits his teeth against them, pushing himself upright. He’s starting to feel heat flashes already, which means he’s got about a day to evacuate Nero before the shit really hits the fan.

He moves over to the bathroom, stripping off his shirt as he goes, grimacing at the way the fabric seems peel off of him. Nero’s getting all the hot water this time, because Dante turns the shower water as cold as he can make it before he steps in, feeling very little actual relief as the icy water runs over his too-warm skin.

The shower wall feels cool against his forehead when he presses against it, and his eyes close, the prospect of having to fight against his demon half for the better part of the week already eating away at his energy. 

Now that he’s properly alone and very naked, he feels his instincts rippling impatiently underneath his skin, the hints of arousal he’d felt earlier when looking at Nero starting to return in force. For an unusually hesitant moment, he stays still, because while he gets that he’s a man with needs and isn’t too shy about these sorts of things, he suspects that taking action now will send him down a path he might not be able to come back from.

It’s nearly impossible to ignore, though, and with a frustrated grunt, he turns so that his back touches the shower wall, the cold tiles prickling against the sensitive length of his spine. He wraps his hand around the length of his cock, the brush of his rough palm drawing a low hiss from him as he tilts his head back, running his thumb over the tip of his dick.

He tries his hardest to keep his mind blank as he starts to stroke himself, a valiant effort that lasts for about six seconds before his eyes close automatically and the image of Nero’s pale neck, so prettily presented to him, drifts into the edges of his mind. In his imagination, the hand around his cock feels softer, a tighter and warmer heat than he himself can produce, and something like a growl builds in his chest as he pushes his hips impatiently upwards. 

He sees the way that Nero looks up at him, his head ducked and his baby blue eyes framed by his too-long lashes, his teeth biting gently at his bottom lip in nervousness or embarrassment. Dante can’t help but think that Nero might look this way beneath him, his head tilted to the side and his thighs wrapped around Dante’s waist, blinking up at him with that same trusting curiosity, his expression twisted with a hint of the rebellious brattiness that Nero pushes to the surface. 

Nero is fantastic jerk-off material, as it turns out, because Dante comes over his hand faster than he’s ever done before, the water washing over his hand and wiping it clean. 

Dante feels the briefest flash of relief before his frustration and irritation return, bubbling up in his chest and escaping through his teeth in a quiet snarl. His demonic side is deeply unhappy with him, confused as to why Dante is standing here and taking care of himself when his to-be mate is so readily available to him. He should get Nero up here and in here with him, he should slide the fabric of Nero’s oversized clothing off his body and throw him up against the wall and take what his demon side should have laid claim to long ago.

He has to physically sink his nails into his palm, actually drawing blood before the cloud of inhuman desire leaves him, his breaths catching unevenly in his throat and his heart pounding against his ribs. His rut is already so much worse than he thought it’d be, this time around, and it hasn’t even properly started.

Dante cleans himself off fairly quickly after that, barely waiting until his skin is dry before he throws on his clothes against and makes his way downstairs, pushing his damp hair away from his face. Nero’s still waiting for him, the promised pizza at his side, and at the sound of Dante’s footsteps, he turns his head, hopping off of Dante’s desk and moving to the kitchen in search of plates.

“You sure took your time,” Nero snipes at him, without any real heat to his voice.

Dante lowers himself into his chair, pressing his palm against the top of the pizza box. From the temperature of it, the pizza’s been here for about ten minutes now, and Nero’s been sitting here staring at it for the same amount of time.

The kid places one of the plates in front of Dante first, making himself comfortable on the edge of the desk again, and is small enough that he can pull his legs up and sit cross-legged on the wooden surface, balancing his own plate in his lap. He doesn’t move to take a slice, though, looking between the plate and Dante’s face, until Dante gets the impression that the kid is waiting for him to start eating first.

He raises a brow, leaning forward and popping open the pizza box, extracting a slice for himself. As if on cue, Nero finally reaches for one himself, letting out a soft exhale, his gaze still trained unsubtly on Dante, only leaving him when Dante takes a bite out of his own slice.

Dante’s pretty sure that this isn’t a new development--it’s one of the habits maybe ingrained in Nero from the way he grew up or the customs on that uptight island of his. But he pays special attention to it now, the silent respect that Nero affords him by waiting for Dante to eat first, and another almost painful lurch in his gut forces him to finally speak up.

“So...this isn’t easy to say,” Dante begins, catching Nero’s attention almost immediately.

The kid tilts his head to the side, his muscles tensing slightly at the words and tone of Dante’s voice, the muscles in his throat visibly tightening as he swallows nervously. He puts his slice of pizza back down on his plate, brushing the crumbs off of his fingers as he looks expectantly at Dante.

“But, uh...I’m gonna need you to stay away from here for a couple of days.”

A mixture of alarm and upset flashes across Nero’s face before he almost immediately shoves a scowl in front of it, his defenses already rising. Dante can tell that the kid’s already taking it the wrong way, getting the incorrect impression about what’s going on, and he hurries to raise his hands in a placating sort of gesture.

“I’m not kicking you out, Nero, I promise. You’re still welcome here for as long as you like. It’s just...well, you know that I’m a demon. And along with the enhanced senses and strength and all that, there are some pretty shitty side effects.”

Nero relaxes, but his frown doesn’t quite disappear, his left hand unconsciously straying to grip at his right arm, and he turns part of his body away from Dante, his usual insecurity about his inhuman parts coming to the surface.

“Like...like what? Is this something I’m gonna end up with too?”

As far as Dante can tell, the kid doesn’t have enough demon blood in him to experience the same thing. Given Nero’s overall inexperience, he doubts that the boy has ever had a rut in his life before, and if the kid doesn’t know instinctively what’s going on with him, it’s possible that he might never have to go through his kind of thing.

It’s an uncertain thing, but Dante shakes his head anyway, reassuring Nero to the best of his ability.

“Don’t think so. I’m equal parts demon and human, so it’s probably different. But the thing is, well…”

He tries to give Nero a quick runthrough of thing, as cursory and detached of a summary as he can properly produce. He goes over the definition of a rut, that it’s a product of his biology’s instinctive desire to mate and reproduce, and that Dante gets pretty unfriendly during them, for lack of a better word.

The concern and uncertainty on Nero’s face is slowly replaced with embarrassment, a pink flush creeping up his cheeks as he ducks his head downwards, staring determinedly down at his plate. The boy’s refusal to meet his gaze and the slight tensing of his body whenever Dante brings up the word “mate” more than confirms the fact that the kid is a complete virgin.

“Okay…” Nero says slowly, wiping at his nose as he looks away, his fingers coming to tug at his collar nervously.

“So...what, you need to be alone for these things? But I mean...are you  _ supposed  _ to be alone?”

Nero looks at him suspiciously, then, and Dante isn’t quite fast enough to cover up his expression. The kid notices his momentary hesitance almost immediately, far too attuned to Dante’s reactions after their time spent together.

The boy shifts in his place, his palms flattening themselves against the desk as he straightens up, clearly preparing himself for some sort of argument, or at least an interrogation, and Dante cuts him off with another gesture. He’s gotten this far, so he might as well give Nero the rest of the story.

“I’ll admit that it’s not exactly the best time for me. My demon side gets sort of pissed that I’m not doing what it wants me to do. But it just can’t happen--it’s not a good idea for me to get other people involved.”

Nero looks fairly startled at his admission, perhaps because Dante doesn’t admit his weaknesses very easily. He’s already downplaying this as best as he can for the kid, but the boy knows him too well, picking up on what Dante isn’t saying with ease.

“And you want me to just fuck off and let you suffer here alone? You’re seriously going senile if you think that’s happening. Can’t I...I don’t know, help you, somehow?”

The boy seems to realize the implications of his statement a second later, his embarrassment deepening as he goes back to staring at the desk. He doesn’t take his words back though, the offer hanging silently in the air, and Nero doesn’t know how dangerous it is for him to have put himself up like that.

Dante swallows hard, bracing a hand against his desk as he struggles to control himself, ignoring the way every part of him stirs with excitement at Nero’s innocent invitation. He has to protect Nero, this kid who’s put his unconditional, possibly undeserved trust in him, even if it’s from Dante himself.

_ “No,” _ he says firmly, and something in his tone is harsh enough that Nero, who’d just been about to retort with another protest, closes his mouth, inclining his head towards Dante and waiting for him to continue.

“You can’t, and that’s pretty much my final decision on this, kid. I know you mean well, but it’s seriously better if you stay away from me. I’ll call you up as soon as it’s over, but don’t come back before that, okay?”

He hopes that the kid won’t push any further, because Dante might have to resort to actually letting Nero know the true nature of the kind of danger he’s in, that every part of Dante wants to claim Nero as his own, and the last thing he wants is to destroy the relationship he’s built up with Nero on the basis of not being able to keep it in his pants.

Nero definitely doesn’t look happy about this conclusion, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, but eventually, he seems to deflate, his long bangs fluttering with his sigh. The kid’s always been stubborn, and he’s got a fiery temper when it comes to things he’s passionate about.

But he’s always been able to tell, somehow, when Dante’s had enough, when he should back down on things like these, and despite Nero’s general refusal to give up on anything, he’s willing to do it for Dante.

“I get it--I’ll go to Lady and Trish’s. But you’d better not do anything stupid, old man, okay? Especially not to yourself!”

The relief that he feels at Nero’s agreement and the guarantee of the kid’s safety lends a bit of lightness to his chuckle as he sits back, taking his plate of pizza with him. 

“Who, me? You know me better than that.”

He folds the slice in half, stuffing it nearly whole into his mouth to punctuate the veracity of his statement, a move he’s perfected after years of pizza-eating experience.

Nero makes a horrified sort of noise, immediately twisting around and snatching up the bundle of paper napkins that the pizza had come with, tentatively offering one out towards Dante. He chews for a while longer just to watch Nero’s various facial expressions before he takes the napkin and wipes at his mouth and hands, offering an easy sort of smirk up to Nero.

The kid shakes his head, picking at the rest of his own slice with notably more care than Dante had shown, taking tiny little nibbles out of it. 

Dante doesn’t particularly have an appetite during his ruts, but he’s well aware of how much energy it tends to take out of him, so he mechanically shoves more of the pizza in, grimacing at the way the sensation of taste feels muted against his tongue. The flavor of everything dims in comparison to the faint hints of Nero’s scent so close to him, and while the pizza feeds his human half, his demon side really isn’t about to be satisfied with sinking its teeth into anything that isn’t Nero.

Nero’s clearly still worried for him, but he doesn’t push further on the topic as he starts to clean the remnants of their food up, stacking Dante’s plate on top of his and moving to wash them off in the sink. The water starts up and Dante reaches for the cardboard pizza box, starting to break it down.

Under the cover of the running water, he hears Nero’s voice, then, quiet and tinged with careful hesitance. Dante’s really only able to make out his words thanks to his enhanced hearing, which Nero is certainly aware of.

“If things start really going to shit, you know you can still ask me to come back, right?”

Dante breathes out slowly, his eyes helplessly drawn to Nero’s turned back, a distant sort of ache flaring up within him already. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, unconsciously bringing his hand to his chest and rubbing at the phantom soreness there.

“I know.”

* * *

The first day isn’t so bad.

At least, it’s okay enough that Dante still has the ability to tell himself that, from where he’s situated himself on the floor of his bedroom, his back pressed against the side of his bed. His demon side hesitates to stray away from what it deems as his nest, but the room feels confining and hot, and with the way that his shirt sticks uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin, Dante can barely stand the thought of crawling into bed and touching his blankets and sheets.

His scent is already everywhere, too, thick from where it hangs in the air, draping over his body and his clothes and every object in his room in an aggressively possessive layer, and it’s almost too much for him. He needs something or  _ someone _ else to balance things out, a counterpart that won’t overtake his presence but can temper it just by coexisting, but the knowledge that there’s no one like that for him claws painfully at his insides.

So he’s stuck here, snarling and spitting at nothing, his teeth clenched and his irritation high, his limbs restlessly shifting against the wooden planks. Occasionally, he’ll wrench himself to his feet and pace the boundaries of his room, feeling vaguely like a caged animal with the heaviness in his gait.

There’s so much energy running through him, wasted and unused and building up without end, and no amount of movement or physical activity aside from what his body truly wants will release it. He feels like he needs to stretch, the urge to shift about nearly unbearable, and it’s only after the late hours of the night have passed that he manages to fall into a fitful sort of sleep.

Sometime in his haze of half-consciousness, he pries himself away from his bed, his exhausted brain lagging behind as his body stumbles out of his room, guided along by an invisible instinct. Dante blinks, and when his awareness returns to him, he finds himself with his face pressed into the cushions of his couch, right on top of one of the coats that Nero had left behind.

He lets out a groan as he buries his face more deeply in it, tilting his head and running his tongue over his teeth, taking in more of the addicting scent. The familiar warmth and vanilla surrounds him, and it feels like a gentle touch, so much fainter and cleaner and less suffocating than his own smell.

_ Nero,  _ he allows himself to think, an almost smile twitching at his tired mouth, and that’s his first mistake.

The flash of Nero’s name quickly evolves into something bordering on obsession as his demon side seizes upon it, distinctly displeased by Nero’s absence. His to-be mate  _ should  _ be here, and isn’t here, and it’s entirely Dante’s fault.

Dante feels his teeth, sharper and longer than normal, starting to sink into his lip, drawing his human blood to the surface as he presses himself into Nero’s coat, his fingers gripping the fabric hard enough to start to tear holes in it. A moment of guilt passes through him before his mind goes foggy again, chasing all other emotions away, save for an insatiable, burning desire.

He has to find Nero, he knows he has to, and the human half of Dante is grateful that he can’t think clearly enough to remember where he’s sent the boy.

His limbs move on their own, shoving him upwards and off of the couch, the world swaying unsteadily underneath the stifling heat as he takes a few steps forward, Nero’s coat hanging loosely over his arm. He drags himself and the clothing back to his bed--his nest, his mind unhelpfully puts in--and the pent-up energy in his body suddenly leaves him the moment his head touches his own pillow, his form automatically curling up around the coat.

Dante braces himself for the usual wave of aggression to wash over him, but as he lays there, with his face half buried in Nero’s coat, a cold sort of emptiness hollows itself out in his stomach. It’s somewhat alarming, because in all of his past ruts, he’s never felt  _ sad  _ before.

Unhappy and angry and unreasonably horny are all things he can handle, but this is a foreign sort of sensation, and something tells him that this newfound development has a lot to do with Nero, a suspicion that is confirmed when he props himself upright a few minutes later and again retreats downstairs.

He finds himself being drawn to the pieces of clothing Nero’s left laying around, the cushions on the couch that have the most of Nero’s scent. At one point, he stops in front of the door to Nero’s room, staring hard at the closed door, but at the very least, both his human and his demon side respect the idea of Nero’s privacy.

All of his findings outside of Nero’s room, though, go straight to Dante’s bed, the pillows and clothes and the kid’s favorite scarf all piling on top of Dante’s own sheets, until he’s contented enough with the state of his bed to actually lay in it. He’ll return the kid’s shit later, when he wakes up after all this is over, and hopefully Nero won’t notice the fact that Dante’s scent is all over his stuff.

Nero’s last offer to him drifts lazily across his mind, but he shoves it away with a growl, reaching for one of the other pillows on his bed and ducking his head underneath it, like surrounding himself with his own scent will help him forget Nero.

It doesn’t quite work, because when Dante next awakens from however long he’d napped for, he’s rutting helplessly into his own sheets, his cock hard and leaking into the mattress, with the torn shreds of Nero’s coat situated in various places about his head. He thinks he probably dreamed of Nero, because the kid’s scent clings to the inside of his mouth and his skin and his brain and refuses to leave.

He obligingly bends to his body’s needs and tries getting himself off, but he’s wholly unsatisfied despite attaining the physical action of release, and in the end, he’s really only left with more of a mess than he started with, the frustration building and crawling up the length of his spine. 

Dante knows he’s prone to accidentally triggering during these things, which absolutely never ends well for him, because his demon fully takes over when he’s like this, and he’ll wake up to substantially more destruction than usual. A slow shudder runs through him as he swallows hard, fully aware of the painful dryness in his throat as his nails dig into the sheets beneath him, his human half struggling to stay in control.

It takes a couple more days before he begins actually destroying things.

In all honesty, he’s pretty impressed with himself for being able to hold out for this long, but eventually, as it always does, his aggression reaches its peak, bubbling over and cracking the layer of self-control he so tightly seals over himself in his daily life. His restless energy, returned to him in full force after his uncharacteristic period of loneliness, needs somewhere to go, and the amount of twisted catharsis he derives from tearing his bedsheets to shreds or slamming a new crack into his walls pleases his demon side in a basic way. 

He feels more violent and untamed than usual, his inherent displeasure increased by the fact that Nero’s scent nearly touches everything in his shop. It’s evidence that their mate was here, that he’d walked through these rooms and touched these objects, and Dante had sent the boy away on the basis of an entirely human reason.

The traces of the boy’s scent make him feel like a caged animal, and he stalks past his own desk a couple of times, resisting the primal urge to kick at it before he drops into his own chair and folds his arms on his desk, resting his head on them. His chair is almost wholly his territory, untouched by Nero, and the thought makes his body settle down slightly, his eyes falling shut as the tension in his muscles becomes more subdued. 

The wooden surface still smells like pizza and Nero from where the boy had been sitting here not too long ago, and as he inhales deeply, the scent seems to get stronger, the pizza fading away and the vanilla becoming a little sweeter and closer--

“Dante?”

A very odd combination of panic and absolute delight twists sharply at the bottom of his stomach, and Dante sits up almost immediately, his head snapping towards the sound of Nero’s voice.

The kid is hovering near the doorway, standing in front of one of the overturned bookshelves that Dante probably knocked over at some point, concern and uncertainty warring across his features. 

Dante gets to his feet, about to tell the kid to leave, but his voice catches in his throat, his body fighting against him because the absolute  _ last  _ thing that it wants is for Nero to be gone.

“I know you said not to come, but I…”

Nero takes a step forward, fully passing over the threshold of the outside of the shop and into Dante’s space, and Dante moves before he can stop himself, feeling the boy’s body tense instinctively underneath his hands as Dante slams him into the wall of the shop. The impact rattles the foundation of the building and momentarily steals the breath from Nero’s lungs, but the kid is stronger than the average human, and despite a slight wince, he shows no signs of injury at the motion.

Dante feels so helplessly out of control as he lowers his head and pushes his face into the crook of Nero’s neck, his eyes closing as he takes in Nero’s scent fully, his grip on the boy’s thin shoulders tightening. But Nero smells so good, he smells sweet and warm and he smells like he belongs to Dante, and his stomach flips with a snarl as he thinks  _ minemineminemine-- _

Nero jerks in surprise when he feels Dante’s teeth graze against his neck, a questioning noise escaping his throat as one of his hands comes to press hesitantly at Dante’s body.

The touch brings Dante back to himself, and he manages to yank himself away from Nero’s neck to look down at the kid.

“I  _ told  _ you, you can’t help,” he reaffirms, his voice deeper than usual, twisted by his desire.

Nero doesn’t seem very dissuaded by this, though, flaring up as he determinedly meets Dante’s gaze, and Dante gets the sinking feeling that Nero might have had a revealing sort of talk with Lady and Trish about the truth of the situation.

“Actually, I think I can, old man. It’s pretty obvious that you don’t want to be alone, and you don’t  _ have  _ to be--I’m right here, in case you happened to forget.”

Dante isn’t quite able to choke back his growl, then, because the effort of fighting against both himself and Nero at the same time is quickly proving to be too much.

“Kid, you’re a virgin,” he says bluntly, all but abandoning any pretense, too tired of everything to even appreciate the way that embarrassment rapidly colors Nero’s face. 

“And your first time shouldn’t and won’t be with someone like me, when I’m like this.”

Nero firmly thrashes against Dante’s grip, situating himself a little higher to properly challenge Dante, something like actual exasperation coloring his expression.

“But you  _ want  _ to do this with me, right?”

Dante clenches his jaw, but he’s never been able to lie to Nero, and he certainly can’t do so now, looking to the side in lieu of an answer, which seems to be all the confirmation that Nero needs. He feels Nero shiver underneath his touch, something like uncertain excitement starting to ripple underneath the boy’s skin, because the kid has no idea what he’s getting into.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way that Nero ducks his head. There’s a hint of knowledge in the boy’s eyes, and as Dante refocuses on him, he sees the way that Nero drops his gaze, his body going slightly lax. Nero’s scent changes, becoming sweeter and more inviting, and it takes Dante a moment before he realizes that Nero’s body is innately responding to Dante’s presence, the demon blood in the kid’s veins unconsciously fueling his actions.

“Then stop being stupid,” Nero says, before fully tilting his head and exposing his neck towards Dante, his left hand sliding up to tug Dante closer.

Dante’s stripped himself of his shirt somewhere over the course of the days, in a desperate measure to escape the heat, and Nero’s smaller hand comes to rest directly against his skin, the contact finally overriding the last vestiges of Dante’s self control.

Dante feels like something snaps in the back of his mind, a cool and dark pleasure leaking into his thoughts and taking over as he reaches for the curve of Nero’s shoulder. The boy jolts at being grabbed in such a sensitive part, but leans into his touch anyway, following along as Dante starts to drag them both upstairs.

He’s trying to be as gentle as he can force himself to be, but Nero’s willing submission to him clouds over his rational thought and being, and his demon side snarls with impatience, unwilling to spend anymore time here when they could both be in Dante’s nest. He pushes Nero into the bed first, and the kid props himself up on his elbows, examining the space around him with interest, noting the conspicuous presence of his own clothes in Dante’s bed.

“What--” Nero begins to ask, but is cut off as Dante climbs on top of him, wedging his knee in between the boy’s legs to make a space for himself.

Dante pushes his face back into Nero’s neck, one of his hands leaving the boy’s shoulders to tangle in his soft hair. He tugs Nero’s head to the side even further, fully making room for himself as he sinks his teeth into the yielding flesh of Nero’s neck, tasting blood and Nero and everything that’s his.

Properly marking Nero for the first time feels like coming home, and he stays still like that for a moment, his tongue lapping idly at the broken skin, a near purr of content rumbling in his chest as he lays against Nero. The kid has gone completely limp underneath him, his breathing shallow and his heart fluttering nervously against Dante’s body, a dazed look in his blue eyes.

The boy’s scent strengthens, and a second later, Nero yelps in confusion, his hand automatically dropping to his waistline, a deep red flush crossing his cheeks.

Dante can’t help the way he smirks, reaching down and curling his fingers around Nero’s wrist to stop him as he lowers himself, undoing the belt of Nero’s pants and tugging the clothing down. He mouths at the exposed skin of Nero’s waist as he goes, until the boy’s lower half is completely bare, something warm and wet leaking into the mattress.

“I don’t know what that...is,” Nero admits, his voice so subdued with embarrassment that Dante can barely catch it, and Dante forces himself to clear his mind for long enough to explain things to his mate.

He gently slides his hand against the soft skin of Nero’s inner thigh, his fingers brushing up against the other’s sensitive entrance. Nero gasps softly at the contact, his hips instinctively grinding downwards to feel more of Dante’s touch, and Dante feels the rush of Nero’s slick against his fingers.

“It makes things easier on your end. Just a demon thing, more or less.”

If Nero looks unhappy about this development, he doesn’t show it, instead parting his thighs slightly wider and averting his gaze, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth in an attempt to hide his face. Dante chuckles softly, grazing Nero’s hole with his fingers, but his demon thrashes impatiently within him at the way he’s stalling.

Another tremor courses through him as he’s forced to bow his head, going completely still for a moment as he reins himself in. His instinct guides him as he grasps Nero’s hips, readjusting them so that his face is level with the boy’s entrance, right at the source of his addicting smell.

Nero barely has the time to express his confusion before Dante leans forward and presses his tongue against him, catching the slick in his mouth. It tastes as sweet as Nero smells, an addicting flavor that reminds Dante that Nero’s body is doing this for him, that it was literally  _ made  _ to take his cock.

The kid is about as sensitive as Dante had predicted he’d be, a sharp, startled moan tearing its way out of Nero’s throat as Dante shoves his tongue into his ass, lapping at his inner walls and fully eating him out. Nero squirms in his grasp, his lower half arching off of the bed as he helplessly grinds himself against Dante, searching for more friction.

Like this, Dante can already tell how tight Nero’s to be--even his tongue meets slight resistance from Nero’s body, and his cock twitches with arousal and impatient anticipation. He needs to be inside of Nero, but even with the way that Nero’s body prepares itself for him, the kid’s walls aren’t stretched enough to take him without pain.

As impatient as Dante’s demonic side is, it recoils from the thought of hurting their mate, allowing this small concession so that things can proceed.

Before Nero can actually come from his tongue, Dante pulls away from him with some reluctance, licking at his lips in an effort to chase after the remaining traces of Nero’s taste. The kid doesn’t even have time to catch his breath before Dante leans back over him, dropping his hand back down to Nero’s ass and slipping two of his fingers inside of the boy’s tight heat.

Nero immediately clenches up around him, biting hard at his lip to muffle the noise he makes at the intrusion, and Dante gets the impression that the kid hasn’t even touched himself like this. He’s the first one, even before Nero himself, and the thought is entirely too appealing as he starts to pet at the boy’s inner walls, roughly spreading him open. His fingers push the boy’s slick out of him with the motion, the warm fluid gushing over Dante’s hand.

He’d go slower, normally, but his dick is so hard it almost hurts from where it’s confined in his pants, and his own breathing is starting to turn harsh, his pupils dilating as his demonic half begins to eclipse his human one. The brief taste he’d gotten of Nero is barely enough to stave off his complete loss of control, and when his fingers curl inside of Nero’s body and dig into the boy’s prostate, drawing a high-pitched whine from the other, the sound puts a deep crack in Dante’s already fragile resistance.

He pulls his fingers out quickly, feeling the boy’s slick drip off of his hand and onto the sheets beneath him, but he can hardly bring himself to care as he nearly tears off his own belt, unzipping his pants and freeing his dick.

“You sure about this?” Dante forces himself to ask one last time, the words clawing themselves out of his throat with effort.

Nero’s gaze jumps to his crotch, a certain amount of incredulous concern filling his eyes as he looks between Dante’s cock and his own body, but when he notices Dante staring at him, he swallows hard, a familiar defiance entering his eyes.

“You going deaf? I said I can take you.”

It’s all the approval that Dante needs to move forward, his hands sliding underneath Nero’s body to lift him up before he enters Nero in one thrust, spearing the boy’s smaller body on his cock. He’d meant to go slowly, really, but the second that the tight rim of Nero’s wet heat closes around the tip of his dick, his mind blanks and he shoves roughly forward with a grunt, his head dropping into the crook of Nero’s shoulder.

Nero makes a choked, high-pitched noise at the sensation of being suddenly filled, clenching up around Dante, his hands automatically clinging to Dante’s broad shoulders for some measure of purchase. 

Dante feels the slight sting of the kid’s nails against his skin, but his attention is concentrated solely on the way that Nero feels around him, so warm and whole and made completely for him. The boy’s body molds itself so perfectly around Dante’s cock, and when Dante presses himself down against Nero, he feels Nero’s stomach against the hardened surface of his own abdomen.

He shifts on top of Nero, driving himself accidentally deeper inside of the boy as he frees one of his hands and presses it against Nero’s stomach, his hand running over the bulge poking out against the soft skin there. Nero arches up immediately against the touch, a strangled mewl escaping him as Dante pushes slightly downwards. 

The touch feels  _ good  _ for him, gives him some measure of pressure beyond the tightness of Nero’s body around him, and it takes his hazy mind a moment to realize that he’s effectively palming the head of his own dick, with only the layer of Nero’s skin separating the two. Dante realizes, with startling clarity, how much smaller Nero is than him like this, and the idea that Nero’s body can barely keep all of Dante inside of him makes Dante groan, his teeth scraping the flesh of Nero’s neck as his grip on the boy’s hips tightens to a nearly bruising one.

“You okay?” He manages to pant out into Nero’s neck, and Nero doesn’t answer immediately as he lays his head back into the pillows, his body spasming around Dante’s cock, his slick leaking out around the edges of his entrance.

“Something’s wrong with your dick,” Nero grits out in response, experimentally grinding his hips up against Dante’s crotch.

“It shouldn’t be so fucking b--”

The boy’s words cut off in an abrupt moan as Nero’s movements cause Dante to bump against his prostate, his back arching at the sensation, and Dante takes it as a welcome cue to move. 

He draws himself out, slamming roughly back into the boy, feeling the bulge in Nero’s stomach shift with the motion, and Nero’s form is so tiny underneath his that the force of it nearly moves him upwards. Dante presses himself harder against the kid, keeping Nero’s body in place as he fucks into him, practically using Nero as a hole for his own pleasure.

Nero feels so wet and warm and impossibly tight around him, a heat that he can’t stop rutting into, the boy’s insides clinging to every part of Dante’s cock.

A distant part of him wants to feel guilty about this, with how little he’s able to concentrate on actually  _ giving  _ to Nero, but Nero himself definitely doesn’t seem to mind, gasping and writhing underneath him, choking out something that could possibly be Dante’s name before Dante swallows his voice up in a messy kiss. His sharp teeth poke against Nero’s soft lips, grazing the skin but not quite drawing blood, and Nero moans helplessly into his mouth, his nails clawing against Dante’s back.

The sensation of Nero’s hands at that part of him makes him shudder, the boy’s touch drifting a little too close to Dante’s spine, the part where his wings would be, if he were in his demonic form. It’s the area where he’s most closely fused with his demon, and the near contact to it almost threatens to make him lose control, especially when he feels the electric spark of the boy’s Bringer claws on his skin.

He manages to hold himself back though, taking as much as he possibly can without actually breaking Nero in half, and the boy tries his best to reciprocate meeting Dante’s thrusts as best as he can, his legs wrapping themselves around Dante’s waist in an attempt to bring him even closer.

Either Nero is just naturally sensitive, or the boy’s previously virgin status makes him especially compromised, but whatever it is has Nero bucking up into him with a choked cry of his name before he comes across his own stomach, some of his cum leaking off into the already soaked sheets. 

Dante fucks him through it, pushing the kid into the oversensitive aftershocks that leave Nero twitching breathlessly against him. Nero’s whines turn slightly pained, the first hint of tears pricking at the corners of his dazed eyes, and Dante forces himself to come to a stop, panting harshly into Nero’s neck, trying not to think of how unsatisfied he still is, his cock rock hard inside of the boy’s body.

It’s all he can do to keep himself still, the frustration within him even harder to ignore now that they’ve gotten this far, but his human part is still aware of Nero’s inexperience, that what Dante needs might be something that Nero can’t give.

“Nero, I--” he tries, but his explanation tangles in his throat, because he isn’t even sure of what he wants to say, if he wants to pull out and uselessly attempt to take care of himself, or if he wants to push Nero further.

“You’re not done yet,” Nero seems to realize Dante’s predicament, and a very familiar brand of stubbornness enters his eyes, even as his overstimulated tears track their way down his face.

With impressive strength, Nero bucks his hips upwards, wrapping his legs more tightly around Dante as he drives Dante’s dick deeper inside of him. Dante hisses out at the sudden friction, suddenly forced to brace himself against the mattress in an attempt to get his instincts under control, but he can feel Nero’s own dick starting to harden against them, and he silently thanks this aspect of the boy’s youth as he pushes back into him.

Then, he feels Nero’s hand snaking further around his back, his fingers deliberately pressing against Dante’s spine. Dante’s entire body goes taut, and he grunts out Nero’s name in warning, but before he can actually shake the boy’s touch away, he feels something sharp prick against his skin, and then Nero deliberately rakes his demonic claws down the length of Dante’s back.

Dante isn’t entirely sure what happens after that, because his mind goes completely blank, and then he’s suddenly being knocked out of his own head. He hears his own voice, distorted and deep, tear itself out of his throat in a near-roar as he pulls out of Nero and abruptly flips him over, pinning both the kid’s wrists above his head. Energy sparks around his form, and he feels the skin over his spine prickle as it hardens into raised scales, his wings manifesting as they come to curl around them both, possessively shielding Nero’s form from the world.

He isn’t quite all the way triggered, with most of his face and chest intact, only some of the flesh of his forearms slowly darkening and hardening into something inhuman. But the partial trigger is enough to drive all semblance of control from his brain, and when he shoves himself back into Nero’s hole, the boy muffling his cry into the sheets, he sees the kid’s entrance closing wetly around the individual sets of scaly ridges lining Dante’s enlarged cock, his small frame shuddering with the sensation.

Any notion of caution or care he’d held onto before is abandoned as he takes what he needs from the boy, pressing his chest against Nero’s back and feeling the way that Nero writhes against each of his thrusts, his wrists struggling instinctively against Dante’s grasp. 

Dante feels a strange sort of pressure in his gut, a sensation that he recognizes on an innate level, but it’s only when he fucks Nero through a second orgasm, the base of his cock swelling to plug up Nero’s hole, that he realizes what it is.

Dante’s knot stretches Nero impossibly wide, forcing his inner walls even further open, and Nero wails as it presses roughly against his prostate, thrashing underneath him like he’s trying to get away from the overwhelming sensation. Dante growls roughly as he releases Nero’s wrists and drops his head, pushing himself even deeper into Nero and sinking his teeth into the curve of where Nero’s neck and shoulder meet.

The boy’s struggles immediately die off, his voice quieting into soft keens and whimpers as Dante shallowly fucks into him, riding out his own orgasm as his cum starts to fill Nero up. His demon purrs in satisfaction as Dante lays himself against Nero, moving his hand down to press against Nero’s stomach again, feeling as the fleshy part of Nero’s stomach start to inflate from just how  _ much  _ Dante is putting inside of him.

He vaguely registers that  _ this  _ is what a proper breeding is supposed to feel like, the sensation of his mate being so full of his seed underneath him, and Dante idly licks at the bite on Nero’s shoulder, a warm feeling of contentment falling over him.

Underneath him, he feels Nero’s smaller, softer hand come to cover his own, the boy’s fingers poking curiously at the bulge in his stomach, a deep flush crossing his cheeks as he seems to realize what it is. The kid looks fucked out beyond belief, though, his overstimulated tears still clinging to his lashes as he gives Dante a dazed sort of smile, turning his face into the pillow with a tiny sigh.

A wave of fondness sweeps over him, and although he can’t quite pull out yet, with his knot still locking him inside of the boy, he gently rearranges them so that Nero can comfortably lie on his side, his back pressed up against Dante’s chest. One of Dante’s wings gently drapes over the kid like a blanket, followed by his arm, and Nero makes happy sounding noise as he nestles back into Dante.

It’s nice to stay inside of Nero like this, in an oddly non-sexual way--just knowing that he’ll be the only one to ever get this close to Nero is enough to make him bury his face in the kid’s hair, rubbing his hand gently over the kid’s sides and stomach. With his demonic needs satiated, his mind is finally starting to clear, Nero’s sweet scent fading gently into the background like it usually does.

“I told you I could do it,” Nero mumbles into the contented silence, a very faint measure of pride hidden in his tone.

Dante chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of the kid’s head, then making his way down Nero’s neck, nuzzling gently against him.

“Sorry I ever doubted you. Didn’t expect you to come back, though. Did Lady and Trish say something to you?”

Nero tenses slightly against him, curling up in the way he does when he’s generally embarrassed.

“I...well, don’t laugh, okay?”

Dante nods against him in confirmation, and Nero lets out a small huff of air, turning his face further into the pillows underneath him.

“I just...felt...weird. Like I was supposed to be here. And I...maybe wanted you to need me, I guess. I wanted to help because I know you never help yourself.”

Despite his promise, Dante does laugh then, lifting a hand to stroke gently at Nero’s fluffy locks, and Nero twists around as best as he can with their limited range of movement, sending him a very familiar glare.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Dante hurries to clarify, unable to stop the smile that spreads across his face. 

“You just made me really happy, is all.”

“Oh,” Nero says, sounding somewhat put out.

“Well...good! You’d better be, after all this work I do for you, I swear…”

The kid trails off into incoherent grumbles, but he can’t quite hide the blush that’s creeping up the back of his neck and across the side of his face, or the way that he smiles into his hands at an angle which he thinks Dante can’t catch him from.

Dante decides to let it go, both because he’s feeling generous and because he’s starting to fall asleep on the kid, the energy he’d burnt during his rut finally starting to catch up to him. He can feel his knot slowly going down, the scales on his arms dissipating as his wings fade away, and by the time he’s able to properly pull out of Nero, he’s all but half-asleep.

Nero turns onto his back, and Dante follows the motion, pushing his face into Nero’s soft stomach and wrapping his arms around the kid’s waist, the boy small enough that he curls up easily against the top of the bed frame and still allows enough room for Dante to stretch himself out.

He feels delicate hands drop gently into his hair, Nero’s thin fingers carding against his scalp in a soothing motion.

“I can’t believe you stole all my clothes, you asshole. This is why I definitely can’t leave you alone anymore.”

Dante gives a mumbled sort of affirmation, bringing one of his hands to push Nero’s shirt up further so that he can nestle properly into Nero’s abdomen, ignoring the kid’s squawk of surprise. Nero doesn’t make any moves to stop him, though, his kind touch pushing gently against the back of Dante’s head.

He’s sure that he’s got a lot of explaining to do later, when he awakens in a couple of days. He’ll have to sit down with the kid and talk things over, tell him what Nero now means to him in terms of their biology, and maybe, as a part of him hopes, what Nero means to him on a relationship level, as well. 

He’s never been great at the emotional shit like this, and even less so when it comes to the people closest to his heart.

But those are all problems for later, and now, with the edges of sleep starting to creep into his consciousness, Dante shuts his eyes and loses himself in what feels like home.

Before he passes out, he feels Nero’s fingers trail gently down the length of his spine, a relaxing, calming touch rather than what it’d been before. The kid maybe assumes he’s asleep, because he shifts carefully against him, and then Dante feels the faint brush of Nero’s lips against the top of his head.

“Love you, old man.”

_ Yeah,  _ he thinks, smiling against Nero’s skin, the scent of vanilla blending in with his own smell, surrounding him like a warm blanket, and when he shifts slightly upwards, he can hear Nero’s gentle heartbeat against his ear, the boy’s chest fragile underneath Dante’s head.

_ I know. _

**Author's Note:**

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